


Afraid of the Dark

by TopHatCat



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hosea is best dad, Nightmares, One Shot, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), afraid of the dark, but hosea is better, dutch is there too but not as much, early gang years, he means well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: “What’s going on?” Dutch asked. “Something the matter?”Arthur shook his head. “No,” he whispered.  “I just…it's….”“It's what?” Hosea asked, and Arthur flushed red.“Dark,” he mumbled.Teenage Arthur is afraid of the dark.  Luckily, Hosea is a Good Dad and is there for him.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 26
Kudos: 158





	Afraid of the Dark

“I’m off to bed.” Dutch rose from his spot beside the campfire, brushing dirt off the seat of his pants. “Goodnight, Hosea. Goodnight, son.”

“Goodnight,” the conman replied, lighting his fifth cigarette of the evening. “Sleep well.”

“‘Night,” Arthur replied, belatedly, speaking the word to Dutch’s back. It was still so unusual to be called ‘son’. His father had always addressed him as ‘boy’ or ‘brat’, and never in the tone Dutch used. Dutch raised a hand on response and vanished into the tent, closing the flaps behind him.

Hosea rested back against the crate he’d been leaning on as the trio chatted after dinner. With Dutch’s upbeat mood suddenly gone however, he and the boy lapsed into a comfortable silence. The older man blew streams of smoke into the cooling night air and Arthur drew circles in the dirt with his finger, not bored, simply being.

“You eat enough, Arthur?” Hosea asked after a while. Though it had been a couple of months since he’d been picked up by the two outlaws, Hosea continued to ask the question most nights.

“Yeah, Hosea,” the teen replied, trying not to sound annoyed. “I told ya, I ate all I could.”

“Good.” The conman formed his mouth into an O, trying to send a smoke ring into the air, but it wobbled and dissipated too soon. Dutch was the master of those displays, much to Hosea’s chagrin. “You were a twig when we first met. Can’t have that.”

“I’m eating,” Arthur assured him, and Hosea smiled. The affection made the teen’s heart grow warm, the same type of feeling it used to have when his mother was alive. He knew when it happened for her, that had been love. If it was the same for Hosea, he didn’t know yet; he was too scared and hesitant to put a name to it.

Suffocating the cigarette on the ground, Hosea got to his feet, stretching his arms, and Arthur looked up.

“Are you going to bed too?”

“I think so,” Hosea replied, “But you don’t have to if you’re not tired. Just remember to put the biggest flames out before you go to sleep,” he warned. “And make sure there are embers to light tomorrow’s fire.” Leaning over, he ruffled the teen’s hair. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight,” Arthur replied as Hosea headed for the tent. He was a little shocked; this was the first time they’d let him be the last one up. In the beginning they’d been afraid he’d run off, then when he got sick they’d feared he’d die, and recently they had stayed up late planning hits and scores.

Picking up a stick, the teen stirred the coals and listened. Summertime nights were not quiet. Bugs chirped, the horses swished their tails, the fire crackled…and what was that? He twisted around, but there was nothing there, only trees. He was pretty sure there were no wolves in this part of the state, but what if….?

Getting up, he scooped dirt onto the fire, a bit too haphazardly; hopefully they could get it started again in the morning. When the flames were doused, the world became much darker, and shadows loomed from every angle, the darkness reaching with black fingers. Arthur ran for his bedroll, diving onto it and yanking the blanket over his head as if it could protect him from whatever waited in the night.

Huddled under the cotton, he felt foolish. Fifteen years old and still afraid of monsters in the dark. But he knew it wasn't ghosts or goblins that scared him...it was waking up and seeing Lyell Morgan standing over him, one hand covering his mouth and the other around his waist, dragging him away before he could yell. Hosea and Dutch would think he’d run away. Would they even look for him? He wasn’t their son…would they care?

The pressure of his dead father’s hands were so real to his fear-soaked mind. He could see him emerging from the trees, hangman’s moose still around his neck as he approached a paralyzed Arthur.

“Thought you’d got rid of me, eh, boy?” he’d growl, reaching out to grasp Arthur, to beat him black and blue, like the skin around his broken neck, bruised from the rope.

With a little cry, Arthur sat up, soaked in sweat and looking wildly around. The clearing was empty except for the horses and a family of racoons that scampered away at his waking. Pushing his hair from his face with shaking hands, the teen looked up into the sky. The moon was high; he’d fallen asleep and not even realized it. A stick snapped somewhere behind him and he gasped and jumped, drawing the blanket to his chest. He wished Hosea was lying next to him, as he had a few times before.

Another stick snapped, closer this time, and he swore he saw the branches of a nearby bush move. Scrambling to his feet, the teen walked with fast steps toward the tent. Indecision paused him at the flap, but the terror of the night was a greater enemy than his own inhibitions, and he pushed through slowly.

Inside was tent was warm; filled with a cozy sort of clutter. Dutch and Hosea both insisted on having books, so those lay scattered on the table, the chest, and the floor. Their gun belts were on the floor too, empty of the weapons, which were undoubtably under their owner’s pillows. The two men themselves were in the cot against one wall. Dutch’s snores were a welcome sound. Anything was better than being alone.

Arthur crept forward, found the edge of the cot with his knees, and put out a hand. His fingers touched Hosea’s sleeve, and he pulled on the cloth gently. It took a moment for the conman to wake up, so slight were the tugs, but eventually Arthur felt him stir.

“It’s me,” the teen whispered before anyone could panic.

“Arthur?” Hosea’s tone was sleepy. “Is something wrong?”

“What’s going on?” Dutch asked from the man’s other side, sitting up as Hosea fumbled to light the lamp on the table. “Arthur? Something the matter?”

Arthur shook his head. He felt stupid now, looking at them in the bright lamplight, disheveled and rubbing sleep from their eyes. “No,” he whispered. “I just…it's….”

“It's what?” Hosea asked, and Arthur flushed red.

“Dark,” he mumbled, looking down at his bare feet.

Dutch ran a hand through his hair, looking confused. “Dark?”

Arthur didn’t do anything, still keeping his eyes trained downward. The outlaw lay back onto the bed with a sigh.

“Son…this ain’t a city. It’s gonna be dark out here.”

“I know.”

“A man’s got to face his fears,” Dutch continued, his voice taking on the tone he used when he started lecturing. “What we hate most likes to hide in the shadows, so we gotta be the light that chases the darkness away and lets us face our fears head on. Understand?”

“I understand,” Arthur replied, trying not to let his voice break. He kept looking downward. If they couldn’t see his tears, maybe they would think him brave. “Sorry. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Proud of you,” Dutch mumbled, eyes already shut, and Arthur turned around, leaving the tent. Behind him, the lamp was doused, and the world fell into blackness again. His eyes were unused to the dark now, and he stumbled to his bedroll, tears falling freely. He lay facing the sky, trying to let the light of the moon chase away what haunted him, but his tears warped the light, causing faces and shapes to leap out at him from every direction. Turning onto his stomach, he muffled his sob in the bedroll and put his hands over his head like a shield.

When Hosea’s hand touched his shoulder, he jumped, turning onto his side with a sharp breath. The conman was backlit by the moon and for a moment, Arthur’s mind struggled to recognize him as friendly.

“Are you alright, Arthur?”

The teen nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He was ashamed to have been found crying. In his past life, such a thing would have been an offence worthy of a beating. “I’m fine.”

He hated how broken he sounded.

“And I’m the king of the world.” One could never escape Hosea’s dry humor for long. It was almost comforting. Arthur rolled onto his other side.

“I said I’m fine.”

There was a short silence, then he felt Hosea settle down next to him. The conman said nothing, just sat, and two more tears slipped out of Arthur’s eyes.

“I’m scared of the dark,” he whispered, not turning around.

“The dark, or what’s in it?”

Arthur swallowed, his throat feeling thick and sore. “I don’t want my pa to hurt me.”

He expected Hosea’s answer to chide him: ‘your pa is long dead!’ That didn’t matter; the fear was still there. The fear that everything he did was wrong and everywhere he went was just another place he wasn’t allowed to be. That every feeling was supposed to be helplessness. That’s what the darkness made him feel; helpless.

Instead, he felt Hosea stretch out beside him, not close enough to touch, but near enough. “I won’t let your pa, or anyone, hurt you, Arthur.”

The words were said gently, but with such conviction that Arthur truly wanted believed them. He knew he shouldn’t allow himself too; it was early days yet and he wasn’t sure if the kindness here was real. But he wanted to trust in Hosea’s words, so much that he rolled back onto his opposite side and stared at the conman as if he could pull the truth from his face.

Hosea smiled at him from where he lay a few inches away, arms folded under his head, and Arthur realized that this man cared for him. The realization was so strong that he began to cry again, despite himself. This time Hosea did touch him, putting an arm over the boy’s shoulders and pulling him close. He let him sob into his chest until Arthur ran out of breath, the exhaustion of holding back for song long draining his energy.

“My mum,” Arthur sniffled when he could speak again. “When she was sick, the room would always be dark and she’d hug me. When she was so weak she couldn’t talk, she’d still hug me, and the room would always be dark. Sometimes, at night, I think of that.”

“And that makes you scared?”

Arthur shook his head. “No…it makes me braver. Pa took me away before she died…but I know she was too sick to live. I know she ain’t here anymore.”

“No,” Hosea said softly, his breath warm on Arthur’s forehead. “Her body isn’t on this earth, but her memory is kept alive in your mind.”

“Memory can’t keep me safe,” Arthur said, his voice quiet, the words a hidden plea he desperately needed answered.

“What do you want from me, Arthur?”

Arthur took in a deep breath. “I don’t wanna leave you. You or Dutch. I want to stay here forever and be an outlaw.”

Hosea’s arm around him tightened, just a fraction. “Whenever you’re afraid of the dark,” the conman whispered, “Just remember that I will not abandon you to it. If anyone should take you away, I will never stop searching for you, ever. As long as I live, you will be okay, Arthur. I promise.”

Arthur nodded, fingers unconsciously gripping the shirt in front of him. “Can you stay here?” he mumbled, almost afraid to ask in case the answer was no.

“Of course.” Hosea shifted so he was more comfortable, but didn’t pull away from Arthur’s grasp. “I’ll lay here as long as you like.”

For the first time that night, Arthur relaxed, melting into Hosea’s hug. It was nothing like his mother’s hold, but that was alright. He knew Hosea’s grasp meant the same thing, and as he drifted into sleep, he allowed himself to accept it as love.

**Author's Note:**

> (If you ever have thoughts/ideas you don't want to put down in the comments, don't be afraid to talk to me on Instagram @nevareck_tophatcat, or tumblr @flowers-n-whiskey)


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